


Give a Watcher a Watchtower

by Regency



Category: Sanctuary (TV)
Genre: Gen, Ghosts, Grief/Mourning, Lingering, life after death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-04-16
Updated: 2012-04-16
Packaged: 2017-11-03 18:24:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,226
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/384459
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Regency/pseuds/Regency
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Will doesn’t survive Kali, but he never actually goes away. Magnus mourns her protégé and one more thing that could have been but won’t be.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Give a Watcher a Watchtower

**Author's Note:**

> Spoilers for Kali, pt. iii (Just posting more old fic.)

                Will wishes she believed in him. What he is, that is.  He’s as close as reality has to ghosts and he’d gladly haunt the halls of this home everyday if she’d let him. But she doesn’t believe in ‘ghosts’ or spirits, doesn’t believe that something lingers after death. Though the corporeal form may not be the end, it is her end. Anything beyond it, she doesn’t dare conceive of or hope for. 

Still, he knows she hopes that Ashley is there, that good place where people may go.  If he could talk to her just one more time, he’d tell her not to worry.  Ashley’s been raising hell since birth; a little thing like death is the last thing to stop her.  Death is a great big world; it almost makes life look small.  Ashley has all the joy she could possibly want, short of her mother at her side.  Magnus doesn’t even have that.  She doesn’t even have Will.

When she told him that she wasn’t ready to give up on him, he’d believed her. He believes her now.  He knows that she was blindsided by the news of his death so soon after thousands had been saved.  He considers his life for theirs to be a fair exchange, but he’s seen her doubt it.  Here on the north tower, under the grey sky, he gets to watch her mourn every night.  Though he can’t enter his old home uninvited, he can skirt its edges and make a perch of the battlements. So, he does.

Tonight, she stands swaddled in a dove grey knit wrap against the cold that’s followed the rain.  Her cheeks are red, just slightly damp from the precipitation in the air and quietly-shed tears.  She doesn’t allow herself to cry much, but tears never ask permission.

She releases a shuddering breath and tightens her arms around herself.  He wishes he could be there to make this hurt less. Too many losses in too short a time can undermine the strongest of people and he considers Magnus high among them.

“I made a mistake,” she begins softly, her accent thickening beneath the weight of her grief.  “I can’t seem to stop making mistakes.”  He doesn’t ask who she’s talking to; he’s gotten too used to these confessions to wonder.

Will sighs and stands, coming to occupy the place at her side.  If he breathed, he’d be touching her. As it is, she shivers and shrinks from what must feel like a chilling wind. Wounded more by his own circumstances than her rebuff, he takes a step away, but only a small one.  He hopes his presence comforts her even a little.

“You did the only thing you could, Magnus.  That’s all you can ever do.”  She closes her eyes and he imagines she’s hearing him, yet refusing to believe.  “You’ve lived almost 160 years; I’ve known you for three. Don’t let mine be the loss that brings you down.”

He almost immediately finds himself scoffing at his own dim narcissism.  If Magnus is anything, she’s a survivor. She’s survived greater losses than him intact, he knows she’ll survive this. 

“I’ll always be here anyway.” He reaches up to brush her hair back from her face, his fingers just lightly touching her skin. She blinks suddenly, eyes wide open and dilated in the night.  He thinks he can see her thoughts falling in a hailstorm behind them.  And, for the briefest of seconds, he sees her believe.

 _A miracle indeed_ , he smiles at her.  She nearly smiles back.

But the moment goes too quickly as her rational mind re-stakes its claim and she forces herself to turn away.  The distance between them now could be measured in leagues instead of feet.  They’re worlds apart despite being this close.  He’s getting used to that, slowly but surely, and eventually he won’t care at all.

Tonight, though, he still does.  And maybe he always will so long as it’s her.  _‘Death be not proud,’_ he thinks, _or even particularly logical._ Not with her.

He takes a seat on his faithful parapet to watch her nightly ritual continue.  She scans the skyline with small wonder at the familiar sight and inhales the fresh air.  She reminds herself why she still does all this, why she still cares.  She’s a gaping wound at this hour with nothing to dull her diamond-sharp focus.  For want of a mystery to dissect, she takes herself apart instead.  He can’t blunt the edges anymore, now that he’s become one. He’s happy enough just to be here.

“I’m sorry,” she says finally, the words catching on a staggering breath.  His own shakes a little though he doesn’t breathe.  She’s been hovering on the brink of this apology for days—weeks, months?  Time tends to fly under the radar when all there is to do is wait.  Her innate sense of responsibility is telling her to let go, that it’s time to move on, that she can’t court grief like a widow whenever loss finds her. 

_If only she didn’t lose so much._

“You were an admirable second-in-command and an unparalleled friend.”  She lifts her tucked chin to stare resolutely into the night.  “Thank you for following me to the ends of the Earth, and then, for dying to save it.”

He still remembers Kali and the avatars, falling so far so fast, and landing so hard.  It was worth it and he’s thought that all along. “Anything for you, Magnus.”

It’s finally time to say goodbye, he supposes, even if that’s the last thing he wants to do.

“Goodbye, Will Zimmerman.  I will not forget you.”  Close to tears again, she quickly turns away, the sounds of her labored breathing lingering behind her.  He wishes he could follow, but she doesn’t believe in him.  He’ll probably never get used to that.

It seems stupid now, but he’d planned to be with her forever, or at least for the rest of his life.    Funny, he thought that’d be longer.  Then again, he knows that Ashley didn’t see death until it was her only choice and Watson didn’t see it until it took his hand.  Death is subtle and can be cruel, but it’s never meaningless.  He’s grateful for that much.  No, he's grateful for more than that.




She gave him an entire life in two years. She gave him a home and a family and a purpose, things he might never have found even if he’d lived decades more.  She gave him meaning.

“Thanks for everything, Magnus.  It was amazing.”

The night is darker than it’s been since he arrived and colder than he has any right to feel, but he isn’t going anywhere.  He was going to be with her forever. No sense in shifting gears now. 

He eyes the building’s structure, well aware of how much leeway death allows.  When Ashley comes to visit, which she will because she’s no better than him at letting go, maybe they’ll rattle the trees outside Henry’s room.  Maybe they’ll hide the gardening tools and rearrange the garden.  Maybe they’ll do what ghosts do to make themselves felt, to show they’re always there.  They’ll show their family that they aren’t alone and never will be. And in the process, maybe they’ll themselves find peace.

Forever is a very long time to have nowhere to belong.

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I don't own any characters recognizable as being from Doctor Who. They are the property of their actors, producers, writers, and studios, not me. No copyright infringement was intended and no money was made in the writing or distribution of this story. It was good, clean fun.
> 
> Thus begins the posting of the old stuff.


End file.
